


The Road to Cosmic Ray's

by stardians



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Sonny Eclipse
Genre: Aliens, Band, Disney World, Except maybe jenny nicholson, Gen, Kinda trash but if you lean into it you might like it, Musicians, No one is ever going to find this lmao, Origin Story, hi jenny, starving artists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardians/pseuds/stardians
Summary: Sonny isn't your typical down-on-his-luck alien. He's a musician with a gift, he just knows it. But no one else seems to. With the help of some unlikely allies, Sonny sets out to show the universe what it's missing, and make some people smile along the way.





	The Road to Cosmic Ray's

**Author's Note:**

> just in case you don't know sonny -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWxbzd96xdc&t=202s/

Nights were all red on Mars. The dust that settled around his feet and coated all of the cafe windows; the flickering neon lights that framed the stage, almost burnt out, but visible enough to spell _Club Sahara_. A campy Earthian desert theme that felt more like a cruel gut-punch, reminding Sonny of the decrepit environment he was living in. What luck for a green-skinned alien.

 

The dryness stuck in his mouth, the rundown city painted orange by day and crimson by night giving him perpetual headaches. Even his routine was beginning to feel mundane: wake up at dawn to hunt for other gigs, fail miserably, and then ease off the day with a cold one or two before finally getting to perform. Sitting down at the rickety, vintage keyboard, looking out into the crowd, he felt centered in the belief that he was doing something right. Even if it just meant providing background music to entertain the sleazy guests that floated in and out of the _Sahara_.

 

Every other week he would ask management for a longer time slot, but they insisted that he needed a shinier brand before he could get a spot in the exclusive late-night scene. He was the frontrunner of his group, _Sonny and the Spacemen_ , but the Spacemen in question were a little lackluster. They were a ragtag band of disgruntled rockers; Arnie on the bass, Commander Blue on the drums, and Plinket’s six arms wielding two guitars and a tambourine. They played mostly covers, old Martian classics that the band knew by heart. Well, all of them except Sonny.

 

Rock & roll was never Sonny’s favorite genre, being more of a smooth jazz man, but he didn’t have much of a choice. Solo artists never made it in the club scene, so a band was necessary to even start out. He held open auditions, but they didn’t exactly bring in a crowd, so he was working within the boundaries of his scrapped-together group. It wasn’t perfect, but starving artists can’t be choosers, and he was happy for the opportunity to get his name out into the galaxy. Happy to have the glimmer of hope that someday, he could be doing bigger things.

 

And boy, did he have a picture of what those bigger things could be. A dazzling new baby grand, fitted tuxedos and shiny shoes to perform in, and an audience full of smiles. He would light up the room, bringing happiness to everyone that sat before him with his soulful voice and wholesome jokes. He knew he had the potential, the starpower, to be a real entertainer. He kept a journal that practically overflowed with ideas; song titles and lyrics, costumes and chords, one-liners to hit the audience with before his next number. Inspiration came on a constant flow. Sometimes it seemed that voices would whisper to Sonny in his sleep, waking him up instantly to develop new concepts. He had a dream, and it was all he wanted in the whole universe.

 

Unfortunately, it just wasn’t his reality. His reality was walking into the _Sahara_ on a Tuesday night to set up for another round of the usual set. He wouldn’t feel the rush that performing brings until the stage light was shining on him, making the hour or so of preparation a torturous experience. A torturous, lonesome experience. His band was never on time, blaming the rain or the traffic or their hangovers from last night, depending on the day. Sonny wasn’t in on their party-all-night scene. He spent all the free time he had searching for better opportunities or drawing up dreams for the future, he didn’t have room to add their wild raves to his schedule. Besides, the whole thing rubbed Sonny the wrong way. He liked to keep himself family-friendly, and if he ever was to make it in show business, he didn’t need the bad press.

 

Sonny ruminated on these thoughts for a moment, imagining a world in which he got any press at all. His name in print, on the radio, in disco lights on the Yew Nork marquee. He pictured this, inserting himself into a world of dreams instead of the broken-down life of despair he was leading now. Well, he couldn’t say despair. Sonny always had that special spark of hope, seeing the positive in just about every situation he faced. Lately it turned a little dimmer, everything seeming more exhausting and fatalistic than usual: the monotony, the disconnect. But he was still shining, still holding out for good things to come.

 

Something that wasn’t coming: his band. There were 5 minutes on the clock, the techno cover duo that filled the prior slot packing up their synth boards and strobe lights, and no word had come from any of the Spacemen. Sonny tapped his feet in the backstage hallway, checking his messages obsessively for any developments.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing.

 

Nothing.

 

Showtime.

 

Still trusting that his bandmates would show up, frazzled and tardy but ready to play, Sonny stepped onstage alone. He sat at the keyboard bench, tapped the microphone a few times.

 

“Hello and good evening, _Club Sahara,_ ” he announced with a flourish. “We are--well, I am-- _Sonny and the Spacemen_.”

 

A few muted cheers floated up from the audience, but most customers weren’t paying attention. They usually didn’t, a sign Sonny normally found disrespectful, but was now extremely grateful for. He warmed up the keys, practicing a few scales to kill the time. The band never showed. He set up his sheet music, tightened his shoelaces, anything to delay the performance. The crowd began to notice, staring pointedly at the stage that was producing no music. As Sonny looked out into the confused, disappointing faces, the sinking feeling of defeat set in.

 

 _Look at you, Sonny,_ he thought to himself. _You finally get the chance to put on your own solo show, and you’re a complete embarrassment. You’ll never be a real star._

 

Sighing, he began to rise up from the bench, making his way backstage to crumple in hopelessness. Suddenly, he heard the whispers; the whispers that came to him at night with fantastical ideas, inspiration and support for his dreams. The gentle, singsong voices gave him courage now:

 

“Don’t give up, Sonny!”

 

“Sonny, you can do this!”

 

He blinked, wondering if the stage lights had finally gotten to his brain. But something inside him knew that the voices were real, and that he should listen. He sat back down, yet stared straight ahead, unsure of what exactly to do. The voices came back:

 

“Play the first chords, Sonny!”

 

Without hesitation, he jumped into the song. He played the first chords, his singular keyboard churning out the notes of the band’s classic opener, “Nothing Like a Martian Night.” He sang out the opening lines, and to his surprise, he heard backup vocals accompanying him. They weren’t the gravelly croons of Arnie, Plinket, and Commander Blue, but the delicate tones of the whispering voices. Looking around, he couldn’t see where the voices were coming from. But they were there, guiding him through the first song, and then the next, and eventually his whole set, leaving Sonny in a state of absolute awe.

 

His entire mood had flipped around, and onstage he felt jubilant, like he was really being himself for the first time. He was still playing the usual rock hits, but a little slower, and with nothing but the keys and the soft, sweet voices from thin air adding to his smooth baritone. The songs sounded beautiful, and Sonny put his entire soul into each one, relishing every minute of the performance until he played his final notes. He looked up into the crowd, beaming, ready to see their response.

 

A few tables clapped politely, some patrons nodding at the stage to show their support. Nothing much changed in the reception of Sonny’s show. But something changed in Sonny. He was breathing in fresh air again, living life his way. He felt exhilarated.

 

In the audience, he saw one older woman smiling. His heart grew as he looked down and said a genuine “thank you” to her, finally realizing how close he was to achieving his big dream.

 

“That was the most spectacular time I’ve had at the _Sahara_ in years!” she praised, walking up to the stage. “What did you say your band’s name is again?”

 

“Well, I’m Sonny, and we’re the Space--” Sonny faltered, knowing that things were different now. He looked back to get the opinion of the whispering voices, before remembering they were invisible. Invisible…

 

He mustered up all the courage he had. “--Space Angels. Sonny Eclipse and the Invisible Space Angels.”

 

The woman shook his hand, saying _well isn’t that just a grand name_ and _best of luck in the future,_ and then Sonny left to pack up his things before the headliners’ show.

 

Before he could leave, the voices reappeared:

 

“Sonny, you did amazing!”

 

“You’re really chasing your dream now, Sonny!”

 

He slumped into a chair backstage, processing the events of the night and the implications of the Space Angels.

 

“Thank you, Space Angels. I can’t thank you enough,” Sonny gushed. “Where did you come from? Why are you helping me so much?”

 

“We care about you, Sonny!” they harmonized. The little green man felt tears well up in his eyes. He continued to thank the Space Angels, ignoring other questions in his head about why they were invisible or if they were even real at all. He had a way to make his dream come to life, a new group, a new name. _Sonny Eclipse_. His real name, a name he hadn’t used in years.

 

“Where do I go from here, Angels?” Sonny asked, his mind moving a lightyear per minute. The Angels seemed to let him ponder in silence for a moment, before coming back with the answer:

 

“Only you know that, Sonny.”

 

And it was then that Sonny realized--he did know where he had to go. In fact, he knew the exact location. With bags packed and the reassuring presence of the Space Angels at his side, Sonny set off on a journey to the past and the future. A journey that he knew would change his life forever. A journey to his hometown--Yew Nork City, on the planet Zork.

**Author's Note:**

> if anyone reads this, thank you for believing in me this much.
> 
> more sonny is coming, this time it's a crossover with another one of disney's lucrative space-themed franchises. hint: it's not star wars


End file.
